They were but as the ghosts of trees; their stately shape, their regular succession, inspired him with some sentiment of romance which he did not stay to define.

He dimly discerned shrubs as if planted in a pleasure-ground.

Wading and fumbling he found a paling and a gate.

The pony turned off the high road with renewed courage in its motion; the Englishman, letting loose the rein, found himself drawn slowly up a long avenue of the ghostly poplar trees.
The road was straight, the land was flat, the poplars were upright.

The simplicity affected him with the notion that he was coming to an enchanted palace.